.

with rere his belly facing, comes.

      Luni’s mountains ’midst the marbles white,

      Where delves Carrara’s hind, who wons beneath,

      A cavern was his dwelling, whence the stars

      And main-sea whide in boundless view he held.

      “The next, whose loosen’d tresses overspread

      Her bosom, which thou seest not (for each hair

      On that side grows) was Manto, she who search’d

      Through many regions, and at length her seat

      Fix’d in my native land: whence a short space

      My words detain thy audience. When her sire

      From life departed, and in servitude

      The city dedicate to Bacchus mourn’d,

      Long time she went a wanderer through the world.

      Aloft in Italy’s delightful land

      A lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp

      That o’er the Tyrol locks Germania in,

      Its name Benacus, from whose ample breast

      A thousand springs, methinks, and more, between

      Camonica and Garda, issuing forth,

      Water the Apennine. There is a spot^[140]

      At midway of that lake, where he who bears

      Of Trento’s flock the pastoral staff, with him

      Of Brescia, and the Veronese, might each

      Passing that way his benediction give.

      A garrison of goodly site and strong

      Peschiera^[141] stands, to awe with front opposed

      The Bergamese and Brescian, whence the shore

      More slope each way descends. There, whatsoe’er

      Benacus’ bosom holds not, tumbling o’er

      Down falls, and winds a river flood beneath

      Through the green pastures. Soon as in his course

      The stream makes head, Benacus then no more

      They call the name, but Mincius, till at last

      Reaching Governo, into Po he falls.

      Not far his course hath run, when a wide flat

      It finds, which overstretching as a marsh

      It covers, pestilent in summer oft.

      Hence journeying, the savage maiden saw

      Midst of the fen a territory waste

      And naked of inhabitants. To shun

      All human converse, here she with her slaves,

      Plying her arts, remain’d, and liv’d, and left

      Her body tenantless. Thenceforth the tribes,

      Who round were scatter’d, gathering to that place,

      Assembled; for its strength was great, enclosed

      On all parts by the fen. On those dead bones

      They rear’d themselves a city, for her sake

      Calling it Mantua, who first chose the spot,

      Nor ask’d another omen for the name;

      Wherein more numerous the people dwelt,

      Ere Casalodi’s madness^[142] by deceit

      Was wronged of Pinamonte. If thou hear

      Henceforth another origin assign’d

      Of that my country, I forewarn thee now,

      That falsehood none beguile thee of the truth.”

      I answer’d, “Teacher, I conclude thy words

      So certain, that all else shall be to me

      As embers lacking life. But now of these,

      Who here proceed, instruct me, if thou see

      Any that merit more especial note.

      For thereon is my mind alone intent.”

      He straight replied: “That spirit, from whose cheek

      The beard sweeps o’er his shoulders brown, what time

      Græcia was emptied of her males, that scarce

      The cradles were supplied, the seer was he

      In Aulis, who with Calchas gave the sign

      When first to cut the cable. Him they named

      Eurypilus: so sings my tragic strain,

      In which majestic measure well thou know’st,

      Who know’st it all. That other, round the loins

      So slender of his shape, was Michael Scot,^[143]

      Practised in every slight of magic wile.

      “Guido Bonatti^[144] see: Asdente mark,^[145]

      Who now were willing he had tended still

      The thread and cordwain, and too late repents.

      “See next the wretches, who the needle left,

      The shuttle and the spindle, and became

      Diviners: baneful witcheries they wrought

      With images and herbs. But onward now:

      For now doth Cain with fork of thorns^[146] confine

      On either hemisphere, touching the wave

      Beneath the towers of Seville. Yesternight

      The moon was round. Thou mayst remember well:

      For she good service did thee in the gloom

      Of the deep wood.” This said, both onward moved.

Canto XXI

      Argument.—Still in the eighth circle, which bears the name of Malebolge, they look down from the bridge that passes over its fifth gulf, upon the barterers or public peculators. These are plunged in a lake of boiling pitch, and guarded by Demons, to whom Virgil, leaving Dante apart, presents himself; and license being obtained to pass onward, both pursue their way.

      Thus we from bridge to bridge, with other talk,

      The which my drama cares not to rehearse,

      Pass’d on; and to the summit reaching, stood

      To view another gap, within the round

      Of Malebolge, other bootless pangs.

      Marvellous darkness shadow’d o’er the place.

      In the Venetians’ arsenal as boils

      Through wintry months tenacious pitch, to smear

      Their unsound vessels; for the inclement time

      Seafaring men restrains, and in that while

      His bark one builds anew, another stops

      The ribs of his that hath made many a voyage,

      One hammers at the prow, one at the poop,

      This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls,

      The mizzen one repairs, and main-sail rent;

      So, not by force of fire but art divine,

      Boil’d here a glutinous thick mass, that round